Sept. 6th, 20–
The water stopped running today.
I’m not sure why. It’s kind of like when the electricity stopped. One moment we have power, the next we don’t. Now the water’s no longer running. Something really bad is going down (as if it wasn’t already happening). I have to piss in the trees in the back yard and shit behind the bushes. Somehow I feel just a tad degraded.
Dogs, I believe, are more suited for this then I am. At least I still have toilet paper.
At around six o’clock the Female Child-Deader (FC-Deader) showed it’s face. Right when I was taking a shit and was a tad revealed, which wouldn’t mean too much other than the fact that she was staring at me through the wooden fence. Even though the fence made for great protection there were still cracks from which the FC-Deader could spy on me.
She had long dirty blond hair that remained relatively unthrashed in a pony-tail. Her dress was pink with white roses (torn and tattered) and she wore a single white shoe. The only distinguishing “deader” traits other than the tattered dress were the obviously broken left foot that dragged behind her and the fact that her eyes were rolled to the back of her head but regardless she still seemed to be able to see me through the cracks of the fence. She knew I was there. I could feel her blank stares upon my flesh.
I was so creeped out I pulled up my pants before I was done doing my thing, which left a permanent brown spot in my boxers. It’s not like I could wash them, now could I. I rushed back into the house but FC-Deader wasn’t fooled. She knew I was still there. She stayed at that fence staring through the crack all night. She never moved. Never moaned. Never made a sound. It was as if she wasn’t even there.
That’s what stragglers do. They make you think they’re not there pulling you into their trap until it’s too late. You get too close without even knowing it and the trap is sprung. You’re caught. And then you’re deader-food.
Not a very nice way to go.
The night went by fairly quietly since no other stragglers showed up other than FC-Deader, so, I decided to get a few things done.
I finally cleared all of Carlos’ belonging out of our room and stuffed them in a room we hadn’t been using.
It was decided early on when we “captured” this house that it would be safer if we bunked in the same room. One of the reasons we had to abandon the last house is because we each had our own separate room and neither one of us noticed that the perimeter had been breached until it was too late. We were running around like chickens with our heads cut off trying to figure the whole situation out which didn’t help since we were both in opposite rooms of the house (we each wanted a big, queen sized bed but weren’t ready to make any real sacrifices). Although we never found out how or why the perimeter of the old house had been breached, we learned our lesson fast.
In this house we took a room on the first floor in case we had to make a quick exit. We also bunked in the same room for added protection. We were smart this time. We picked a house that had both a basement and an attic, which are now set up and re-enforced in case all hell really breaks loose. The wooden fence outside is re-enforced and the scarecrows are the perfect shields against most anything. Anything that is except for stragglers.
We were prepared for anything and everything. Well. That is except the fact that Carlos is now dead.
Cleaning everything of Carlos’ out was pretty easy since he didn’t keep anything personal. After we had to leave the last house in a fucking hurry he thought it was useless to carry anything you couldn’t carry with you at a moments notice. Even his journals he never planned on taking with him. They’re in the attic on a bookshelf neatly stacked with the words “Journal of the Apocalypse” chiseled in to the wood in case anyone ever happens upon this place. No, the only thing Carlos kept in his bag was a pack of pens, pencils, and markers, and a toothbrush, and several pictures of his family (one of which had a picture of him and Jane on their wedding day). I kept the writing tools and the picture of him and Jane and tossed the rest in one of the abandoned rooms.
I cleared the main room of Carlos’ sleeping bed and blankets and all the other items that he “borrowed” from the previous owners and what was left was a few random pillows and blankets and a few sketches I did since all hell broke loose. I stopped sleeping on a bed since the last house.
I’m an insomniac who is constantly at the window watching. Waiting. I don’t have good night sleeps. In fact, I can’t even remember the last dream I had, that provided me with a moment of peace.
I don’t have aspirations or goals other than trying to survive to the next day. I don’t have any loved ones to care for or give a shit about me. I don’t have dreams of sex or beat my stick when I do because all those dreams died with Clara. I don’t have anyone but myself and the stragglers that haunt this house. Deader-Bob, Deader-Jane, and FC-Deader. They are my family now.
What am I still here for? Why do I still go on?
Is it in our nature to continue going on even if the illusion of hope no longer exists? Each day it gets harder to find a reason to not go out there and open that front gate and let the Deader-Family in.
And that’s exactly what I’d do if Deader-Carlos wasn’t staring down at me from his post every time I took a step out those front doors. Deader-Carlos – that bastard.